


A First Time for Everything

by Naopao



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Art, Begging, Caning, Cover Art, Dirty Talk, Discipline, Humiliation, Intersex, M/M, Overwatch - Freeform, Robot Sex, Spanking, Vaginal Sex, ish???, it's good shit just follow heronfoot on tumblr, lots of hands, reverse!au - Freeform, this is basically just an excuse for reverse!AU porn, uhhhh, valveplug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-14 19:33:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8026195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naopao/pseuds/Naopao
Summary: Based on heronfoot's reverse!AU: Genji slays his brother and becomes head of the Shimada family. Years later, Zenyatta, leader of an omnic supremacist cult, takes an interest in his new found weapons supplier. Artwork by the wonderful venomines.





	A First Time for Everything

**Author's Note:**

> This is incredibly self-indulgent and perhaps not what [heronfoot](http://www.heronfoot.tumblr.com) originally intended, but here we go! I hope you guys enjoy.

 

 

 

 

The smooth, hard press of synthetic hand is nothing like Genji expects: firm and warm, with a gentle give, like silicone. There’s a nearly imperceptible thrum of energy beneath the surface, reminding him of a human pulse. It’s nothing like he’d imagined. None of it is.

Zenyatta strokes the pad of his thumb over Genji’s lower lip, just once, face looming close, the lights on his forehead pulsing. Genji feels like he’s under a microscope, something curious to be dissected.

All at once, the pressure disappears; the omnic departs with a whisper of robes, orbs circling his head slow and serene, like he had mentioned the weather instead of offering to discipline the leader of the most powerful mafia in Japan.

Oni opens the door before Zenyatta reaches him, allowing him to leave without missing a step. The horned omnic never says a word, never does, but the steam spews from his vents as soon as he shuts the door.

Genji can empathize.

* * *

Two weeks pass.

Genji leans against the ancient oak desk he inherited from his father and forces his hands to relax against its edges. He’s nervous, even in the heart of Shimada castle and Oni at his back.

A soft, single knock rings like a bullet, but it’s just Bones at the door, their dark face sliding into view before they move to the side, revealing the source of his anxiety. Genji's determined not to let Zenyatta get under his skin this time.

He feels Oni shift behind him, straightening under Zenyatta’s sights.

“Welcome. Glad you could make it on such short notice.” Genji says, a little forced. He gestures to the chairs in front of his desk. Seeing Zenyatta has the omnic’s offer ringing in his ears all over again.

Zenyatta hums, orbs languidly spinning behind his head in a tight loop. He takes the seat closest to Genji, scant feet between them. Calculated.

“It is no trouble. I plan on staying in the area for quite some time.”

Zenyatta curls his hands around the plush arm rests, and the golden knuckles draw Genji’s attention. Deep gouges stand out like mottled bruises on light skin; disrupting Zenyatta’s immaculate appearance.

The implications give him pause. One: someone had been brave (or stupid) enough to cross Zenyatta. Two, the omnic had no qualms about getting his hands dirty if necessary. Three: the attacker didn’t live long enough to do extensive damage.

“Whoa, your hand’s all scratched. Did something happen?”

Zenyatta’s orbs slow, and the omnic looks down like he hadn’t noticed before. He lifts his hand and tilts his head, staring.

“Ah, nothing in particular. Just a personal matter that needed attending.”

Genji’s eyes thin, lips twisting into a comfortable grin. _Round two_.

“Looks pretty bad.” He extends his hand. “Here, give me your hand for a second — there’s a human trick for fixing stuff like this right up.”

“Is that so.” Zenyatta says, more statement than question, though he doesn’t hesitate to curl his hand atop Genji’s open palm.

Genji revels in the warmth of that hand, just as he remembers. Zenyatta begins to say something, stops short as Genji brings the marred metal to his lips, pressing his lips along the knuckles.

He glances up at Zenyatta, sly and sweet, breath ghosting over his fingers.

“See? All better.”

Genji straightens, laughs through his nose when Zenyatta’s orbs still.

“But seriously, we have a guy on standby for repairing our omnic employees. He can give your hand a better look before you go.”

The hiss of steam thrills him like a fresh kill or a good lay, better than the first sip of vintage liquor after a long day's work. He tightens his grip on Zenyatta’s hand.

* * *

They play many more rounds of their game. Moves are calculated, sometimes spontaneous, perhaps more consuming than either of them expect. Charged replies tail snide comments. Inappropriate, _accidental_ touches garner apologies and forgiveness, but are not forgotten.

Everything halts when a newly formed gang attempts to move into Shimada territory; small fry wanting to make names for themselves. They shake up local businesses and sell on Shimada streets. Genji welcomes it, a challenge, a distraction; even after decades of dirty work, he still appreciates being hands on. He stands over the cooling corpse on the floor when his cell rings.

“Shimada-sama, a limo is waiting for you outside.”

Genji doesn’t say a word, lets the person on the other line sweat while he watches his underlings clean up.

“Who? I didn’t request it.” He says after a long pause.

“Master Zenyatta, sir.”

Genji ends the call. He gestures to Oni, who’s wiping viscera off his faceplate with a small embroidered handkerchief. The omnic follows him to the front of the abandoned building.

He wonders how Zenyatta knew where he was, if he was always being followed by a cultist. He doubts its insidious; hell, Genji likes the omnic, his wit and his gall to think he was better than everyone else. That charismatic confidence made him interesting. Besides, it would be hard for even a dedicated group to hold ground so far away from their Numbani headquarters. 

At least Genji hopes so.

The limo waiting for him is sleek and tasteful, reflecting the soft pastel haze of the night sky. The passenger’s side door opens, and a robed omnic slides into view. She holds the door open expectantly.

Genji is the true born heir of the Shimada clan. He’s killed hundreds of people in the decades leading up to this, including his own brother, whose weapon he still carries. He has held and expanded his family’s ancient empire, led it through every crisis and war that has touched Japan in his lifetime. If he dies now, there is no clear heir to take his place. The Shimada clan will likely fall into ruin without him.

The choice is easy. The night’s kills buzz between his ears, better than any drug; he feels young again. Brave. Unstoppable.

He climbs into the limo.

* * *

Zenyatta’s temporary quarters are in the finest hotel in Hanamura. The omnic bodyguards lead him silently past the glittering, near empty lobby and into a private elevator. They are armed, but so is he. Genji notes absently that the omnics are constructed from same pristine white and gold chrome material as their leader, more expensive and slick than any shambali he’d ever seen. _The perks of a spin-off cult._

The elevator chimes, and they walk down a wide, dimly lit hallway that smells faintly of sandalwood and clove. The three halt before the first and only door they pass, large and ornate, with massive red pillars framing the royal suite. The omnics flank the entrance.

The heavy-looking door slides open with a quiet hiss, and Genji steps inside. The smell is stronger now, but not unpleasant; he realizes its the same scent that he associates with Zenyatta, lingering on his kasaya when they meet.

Genji studies the room: white walls and red accents, it’s almost austere. His eyes are drawn to a long tapestry of a snow-tipped mountain range rendered in textured brush. Gold and white _shōji_ section off other rooms, all closed.

“Ah, Shimada. I am pleased you could join me.”

Zenyatta floats, lotus position, above a modern red sofa in the center of the room. He wears a modified white kasaya with gold gradations along the hem. It’s dim enough that his teal dots glow softly. His orbs are nowhere to be seen.

The door clicks shut with an odd finality. The human tips his head, making a show of surveying the room.

“This is nice. You’ve redecorated the place.”

Zenyatta hums, uncrossing his legs to stand in a fluid, weightless motion. It looks practiced.

“An astute observation, for a human.” He can hear the smirk in Zenyatta’s words. “I am ashamed to admit that I still long for the open space and simplicity of the temple I once called home.”

The omnic turns, moving towards a small square on the far wall.

Genji’s eyes draw immediately to Zenyatta’s kasaya as it snakes up the backs of his thighs. He blinks a few times, mouth dry, wondering how a robot can look so alluring and inhuman at the same time.

Zenyatta taps the square, and the space folds away, revealing a row of dark glass containers.

“Would you care for a drink? You will forgive me if I do not join you.” The comment makes Genji grin, and he nods.

“There’s Numbani oil that omnics can drink. I take it you’ve not had the opportunity.”

Zenyatta scoffs. “I’ve been told that particular brand is dreadful, though I am not equip to imbibe myself.” He withdraws a dark amber bottle and a single glass.

They sit across from each other at a small red table near the couch. Zenyatta uncorks the liquor with a gentle pop, pours the spiced liquid with practiced ease.

“However, anything is possible with the proper upgrades.” He slides the glass across the table.

The words ring in his ears as Genji brings the drink to his chest. The liquid smells sweet and sharp with a hint of wooden smokiness. The first sip blooms across his tongue, fragrant and honied. Brandy. He takes another taste.

“That sounds promising,” Genji says slowly, glancing up from his glass.

Zenyatta tilts his head. “Is that what brings you here tonight?”

Genji swivels his drink, watching the liquid slide up the sides.

“You caught me at a good time. Surprisingly good, actually.” He finishes the glass, warmth blooming in his stomach. “How long have you been keeping tabs on me?”

Zenyatta leans forward, pours another glass without looking, makes a quiet contemplative sound.

“I am afraid I don’t know what you mean.” The omnic taps the side of his face, as if in thought. “There are sparrows everywhere in Hanamura. If they sing the location of my main arms supplier, who am I to silence them?”

“Sparrows.” Genji grins lopsidedly before taking another sip.

Zenyatta hums. “Indeed. They are quite beautiful, in their own way.”

Genji has the distinct feeling that the omnic is teasing him. He stares at the saffron marks beneath Zenyatta’s eyes. If he turns his head just right, they make him look mirthful, a mocking expression on an expressionless face.

Zenyatta brushes a metal finger across the lip of his gold chrome faceplate.

“You seem troubled. Perhaps you should speak your mind?”

“I’m tired of this game.” Genji finishes his drink, cradles it in his hand.

“Hm, and I do enjoy our conversations.”

The edge of the omnic’s hand overlaps with Genji’s as it grips the top of the empty glass. Warm. Smooth. Giving. Just as before. The sense memories that lingered at the edge of Genji’s thoughts surge forward.

The omnic’s synth drops low when he says “Are you suggesting we play something else?”

Genji steels his face, but he can’t stop the faint flush painting his cheeks. He wishes he could blame the booze. Zenyatta slips the glass out of Genji’s slack grip, setting it and the bottle aside. Without anything to distract him, Genji’s eyes settle where Zenyatta’s mouth would be.

“What you said at the warehouse…” Genji is nearly forty years old, but the omnic has him flushed and hesitant. Though he had never known an omnic like Zenyatta. A human either, for that matter.

Zenyatta sits still as a statue. Anchored to the chair and without orbs, there’s no reading him. Genji feels his disadvantage like a weight.

“Yes?” Zenyatta replies after several painful heartbeats.

Genji clenches his jaw, warring thoughts making him hesitate that much longer. He drags his eyes up to the mirthful lines again, then to the omnic’s eyes.

“Discipline me.” Genji says, just above a whisper, though his voice doesn’t waver.

If he thought Zenyatta was still before, the omnic _freezes_. A handful of seconds pass. Then Zenyatta’s lights flash, so quick Genji thinks he imagined it. Heat squeezes his chest.

“Through the door on the left. Take off your clothes and kneel in front of the bed.”

It’s Genji’s turn to freeze, struck speechless by the abrupt demands.

“If you want to play, Shimada,” he enunciates every syllable of Genji’s name. “Obey.”

Zenyatta gestures towards the door, reminding Genji of the guards posted outside. “Of course, you are free to go if you prefer our relationship remain professional.”

He swallows, throat and face tight, knots twisting his stomach. He moves before he can second guess himself, chair squeaking against the floor.

Genji is past the _shōji_ before he can blink.

The bedroom is decorated much the same as the rest of the suite. He draws his eyes to the bed, perfectly made and undisturbed. Near the bottom of the sheets on a vibrant red coverlet rests a long, straight cane with a woven lime-green handle. Genji narrows his eyes, implications dizzying.

His fingers fumble, feeling thick and stupid as Genji tugs off his clothes. The room is warm, has been the whole time. Zenyatta was prepared. Genji takes a measured breath. He slowly sets his clothes and weapons on a nearby chair.

With no other distractions, Genji draws close to the bed, each step surreal; he’s hyper aware of the air against his skin, the soft carpet under his feet. As Genji sinks to his knees, something on the nightstand catches his eye.

It looks like an omnic faceplate. The color and make are similar to Zenyatta’s, but with more mature features and a diamond light alignment. There’s a bullet hole just beneath the light indentations, a tenth, garish dot.

“Pachimari.” Says Zenyatta from behind, too close. Genji stops himself from flinching.

“What?” He responds numbly.

“A safe word. When it becomes too much for you, say it, and the game will end.”

Genji hesitates before nodding once, bristling at the word choice, wondering how many times he can be thrown for a loop in one night.

Zenyatta’s moves like a ghost, and the hairs on the back of Genji’s neck raise when a warm hand brushes his shoulder, caresses a rough mottling of scars.

“Another disadvantage of your kind: you can’t replace your body when it is wounded. You must wear your scars as a record of your failings.” Zenyatta purrs. “But failure is not the only thing skin can display.”

Zenyatta cards his fingers through Genji’s ponytail. Then they’re twisting deep, grasping at his skull and dragging Genji flush against his body. The human groans, eyes and scalp tight and prickling.

“Stay on your knees and lean over the mattress. Place your hands behind your back.” Zenyatta shoves Genji forward.

The flush spreads, tinting Genji’s ears and neck. He leans over, and as smoothly as he can laces his arms behind him. He resists the urge to glare at Zenyatta; the thought of making eye contact from his position mortifying.

Zenyatta holds a soft, extended note, like a whistle, and Genji reddens even deeper.

“I am going to spank you, Shimada.” The omnic says, whispering into the shell of his ear. The words chill and burn all at once; his skin prickles with the beginnings of sweat. “You will count each strike.”

The whisper of the cane lifting from the fabric sounds startlingly loud. Zenyatta recedes, drags the length of the instrument between Genji’s shoulder blades, down his spine, gentle and teasing. His thoughts narrow to the tracing of the cane, trying to sense where it will touch next.

“Normally, you start soft, with a hand. I am feeling generous. I will let you choose.” He presses the cane against bruises, old scars, tense muscles. 

Genji wills himself motionless. He wonders, faintly, if this is some kind of test. Well, he never liked to do things halfway.

“T-the cane.” He grits out.

“Very well.” Zenyatta hums.

The cane sings through the air and connects right beneath his tailbone.

Genji inhales sharply through his nose as shock blossoms into sharp, bright pain. It shakes him to the core, hot as coals. No one has ever hit him like this, not even as a child. He was important, something to be treasured. A leader. Zenyatta drags a finger along the raised skin, makes him squirm and clench his teeth.

“Count.” Zenyatta says, his light stroking unbearable against the tender mark. Genji buries his face into the sheets. Swears.

“...One.” He gasps after a particularly vicious press of synthetic hand.

The next hit lands just below the first, has his toes curling. Genji can’t keep silent and he can’t stop moving. Zenyatta doesn’t swing until Genji counts, until his squirming hips settle.

Two. His eyes tighten, feels sweat rolling down his face. Three. Hundreds of fights haven’t inflicted the same pain, never so intimately.

Four. He bites the sheets, can feel the bed shift when he rocks into it, trying to get away. It becomes impossible to think. The only sounds are the swing of the cane, the impact, and his muffled cries.

Five. His grip on his arms lock in a vice, joints aching, but nothing compares to the cane marks, like throbbing, stinging sunburn but not at all the same. The safe word bristles behind his teeth.

Zenyatta palms his ass, kneading with a soft, cool hand. The fingers splay, _spread_  him open. Something deep and animalistic washes over him with brutal swiftness. Threads of gut-wrenching heat pool between his hips.

Genji twists his head to the side, gulps air, and moans, hard and low and wild.

“Good.” Zenyatta whispers, impressed, a little breathless.

Six. The next hit, Genji has enough awareness to bite his lips. Seven has them bloodied and open, saliva flecking down his chin. His dick throbs along with the pain; he cants his hips into the mattress for more friction, only it gives Zenyatta better access.

The cane presses low suddenly, nearly has Genji scrambling up the sheets. It drags across his perineum and ever so lightly over his balls. Then Zenyatta strikes again right below the last mark on his ass.

Eight. Genji can’t stop the litany of swears, doesn’t even realize he’s babbling in his native tongue, can feel the drool and sweat pooling.

Nine. Everything is scalding pleasure pain, his mind carved out and replaced with a dangerous slurry of deep, primordial need. He feels crazed, too full. Mindless.

It takes Genji an eternity to get his breathing under control, for his heart to settle, to stop shaking. It takes even longer to realize that Zenyatta has stopped. Genji tries to recall, but the punishment is a red blur in his mind. Did he do something wrong?

“Ah, you have returned.” Zenyatta says, the sound of the cane being set to the side makes Genji glance over his shoulder. The omnic must read the confusion in his eyes. “You stopped counting.” A smirk in his voice again.

Two hands press into his cheeks, and Genji nearly yowls. More tears squeeze down his face. Genji doesn’t know when he had started crying. He can only imagine what he looks like, shaking, red and tear-streaked.

“Sit against the headrest.”

Zenyatta delivers a soft smack that has Genji moving, hissing when his abused muscles protest.

Genji struggles to breathe again when he reaches the bedpost, knuckles white from gripping the heavy wooden frame. He seals his mouth with a hard exhalation and flips over gracelessly, vision swimming when his ass makes contact with the mattress. Zenyatta watches every gasp and expression, waiting for the pain to subside into something manageable.

He doesn’t notice the bed dipping until Zenyatta is upon him, kneeling on either side of Genji’s hips. It puts the omnic’s body close to his face; his harsh gasping rustling his robes.

Zenyatta grasps his chin, tilts Genji’s head, admiring the view.

“You look so good beneath me.” Zenyatta murmurs, his other hand dipping between his thighs, parting fabric to reveal more smooth plating. Genji wants to see, hungry for Zenyatta, for what can come next, but the hand keeps him trapped.

There’s a click and a soft whirr of metal latching into place.

“Open your mouth.” Zenyatta lessens his hold.

Genji’s eyes flicker forward. He exhales sharply. He can feel his cock throb, precum beading at the sight.

Genji parts his lips for Zenyatta’s dick, perfect smooth matte white plating like the rest of him. He should’ve guessed there were upgrades like this, chides himself for never letting the possibility cross his mind.

Zenyatta angles forward, sliding into Genji’s wanting mouth with an appreciative hum. The first rough push forces him to moan. Zenyatta’s cock is warm and smooth, nearly tasteless; Genji runs his tongue along the seams of the plating, trying to map every inch.

The omnic threads his fingers through his hair, twisting tightly at the base of his skull, forcing Genji forward, controlling the pace. It’s not long before he starts pushing deep, sliding down his throat, choking him. Genji plants his hands on the omnic’s full thighs, flexing around the soft chassis for purchase.

Genji presses his own legs together, doesn’t remember the last time he’s been this hard. He snakes a hand down towards his stomach, but Zenyatta’s free hand grabs his wrist, slamming it against the bed frame.

“I did not give you permission to touch yourself, human.” Zenyatta growls, rough and low, not halting his thrusts even as he chastises him. Genji whimpers, twisting his trapped hand in the omnic’s grip, rolling his hips fruitlessly into the air. His free hand itches at his side, temptation maddening.

Zenyatta only relents when Genji’s lack of air has his vision swimming. He pulls back with a thick, loud pop, drags his dick across Genji's mouth, painting his lips and face teal. Genji moans, voice rough and fucked out, trying to sloppily catch the omnic’s head with his tongue.

“Look at you. Has anyone ever seen the leader of the shimada-gumi in such a state?” His voice is light, teasing, keeping his dick just out of reach of the begging mouth.

Genji doesn’t try to stifle the noises he’s making, presses his free hand between Zenyatta’s thighs instead of touching himself.

"Please. I'll make it so good—" He gasps when he strokes something warm and velvet slick.

A bright light engulfs the dim room, and then there’s pressure all over him.

Genji yelps, thrashing until he realizes it’s still just the two of them, has to blink several times until he can believe that three sets of golden arms are in fact pinning him to the bed. One set grips his hips, another slides comforting, ticklish strokes down his flanks.

“I cannot have you putting hands where they do not deserve to be.” One of those hands snakes behind him, grasps the base of Genji’s cock.

He bucks hard against the omnic, but there’s no give; all of the arms press, grasp, stroke, pin. Genji is begging in a harsh litany before he can stop himself.

“Please please, Zenyatta, fuck, I need—”

Zenyatta tugs him down none too lightly, positioning Genji flat on the bed. From this angle, Genji can see glimpses of what he felt earlier, a lower hatch beneath his dick, dripping and teal, like it was—

“Do you want to come, Shimada? Do you think you’ve earned it?” Zenyatta coos. Gives him one feather light stroke that has his whole body straining.

Zenyatta shifts backward, dragging his groin against Genji’s chest, leaving a hot trail of teal where he presses. The way his body twists and slides is absolutely sinful, like he was built for it. Golden arms throb around him, possessive and hard.

“Please, ah-anything.” Genji cries, head spinning. He’s never felt more helpless.

Then there’s the slick slide of that hole over his dick, catching just so on the soft plating around it. Genji nearly screams, throwing his head back, throat bulging.

“Do you think you deserve to fuck me?” Zenyatta swivels his hips, smearing himself around Genji but never angling correctly, not letting Genji inside. "Do you want me to scream and thrash like your concubines?"

Genji thinks he’s going to die, growling and crying because the touches aren’t enough. If he could just _move_ , with an inch he could—

Zenyatta moans for the first time, synth suddenly desperate and staticky. His hips circle, slip forward, all hot liquid slide.

“S-shimada-sama. I…please...” Zenyatta’s voice wavers in a strange robotic timbre. The omnic grinds down decisively, hard, the staggered paneling catches against Genji’s dick just right, not enough, but the the words, Zenyatta’s inflection, is.

Genji comes so hard he doesn’t even know it’s happening at first, his whole body pulsing and trembling with the shock of it. Wave after wave and he still can’t move, can only experience. Zenyatta coaxes him through, even when he passes the threshold of pleasure into pain.

He thinks he may’ve passed out for a few moments, the soft gentleness of Zenyatta’s laughter chimes like a bell. Genji feels rather than sees Zenyatta repositioning him, all those hands holding up his body when he doesn’t have enough power left to support himself.

A metal arm clutches Genji’s waist, keeps him steady while he’s propped on his knees. Golden hands tug at his nipples, grasp his hips. Genji lurches when he feels questing fingers at his ass, slick, pressing around his hole.

“We can stop.”

Genji shakes his head violently. Zenyatta presses inside.

No pain, only a dull, warm stretch. A hand fondles his dick, slides around Genji’s balls, feather light. Everything is heat, his dick twitches when Zenyatta angles his fingers inside just right. Genji clutches at the arm around his waist. Zenyatta’s brushing his nipples again, the teal trails making the soft skin slick and sensitive. More hands card through his hair. Pet his sides. Too many hands, too much stimulation.

Two fingers slide inside then a third. Zenyatta starts pushing deep and hard, has Genji twisting and arching against him. The human is mindless, growling like a beast. He nearly sobs when the omnic finally sinks into him without pretense, bottoming out on the first thrust, pressing into the cane marks and bringing Genji to full hardness again.

Zenyatta doesn’t let him catch his breath, has Genji straining, plants his feet so he can meet Zenyatta as best he can.

“Good boy, Shimada. You’re so good. Perfect.” Zenyatta’s physical hands hold Genji’s hips tight, can feel the bruises form, not letting up for an instant.

Genji feels another orgasm build, slow but insistent, constantly approaching, a pressure between his eyes. All the arms lock down at once and Genji’s immobile again. Zenyatta alternates deep, slow thrusts with quick bursts. Fingers lock on the back of his neck, pushing his face against the mattress, choking him. A rattling gasp is the only warning before Genji’s coming again on the ruined sheets. His vision blurs, ears ringing, everything aching. Distantly, he hears his given name, and then there’s only darkness and silence.

* * *

Genji stirs, blinking slow and heavy. He hurts everywhere. His vision swims for a moment, surreal, until he realizes he’s being carried. Zenyatta shushes him softly.

“You are safe.”

They enter into a dimly lit porcelain room, warm with steam. Genji finally notices that Zenyatta’s golden arms are gone. He basks in the warmth and the body holding him close, knowing he should push away, but the thoughts roll off him like rain on glass.

“I am going to put you in the bath. It will sting.”

Genji hisses at the first lap of water against his body, but he quickly adjusts. The scented bath, lavender and something else, drains the tension from his muscles. His eyes thin, nearly close. He feels boneless.

“You lost consciousness.” The omnic says, voice echoing in the small room. Zenyatta begins to clean him with a lathered cloth. Genji watches him through his lashes.

“Are you hurt? The marks are not deep enough to scar, but regardless…”

It takes Genji two starts to find his voice. He smiles, feeling drunk. Unburdened. “You're being so nice to me."

Zenyatta continues to cleanse the sweat and filth from his body. They finish the bath in trace-like silence; Genji leans heavily on Zenyatta as he dries him with a soft towel, gentle as before.

Genji lets Zenyatta carry him back to bed, unable to find it in himself to protest, especially when he comfortably settles his head against the crook between Zenyatta’s shoulders and neck.

The bed feels cool and clean, and he closes his eyes. When Zenyatta makes no move to join him, Genji grasps at the omnic’s sleeve.

“Stay.”

Zenyatta’s gentle laughter tightens his chest.

“I will be here. Sleep.”

He does.

* * *

Genji dreams.

Zenyatta sits at the suite’s table in the dark, lights pulsing faintly before they turn to study the the broken faceplate in his hands. He’s talking, but Genji can’t understand him. The faceplate responds in turn, disembodied, staticky voice sparking again an overwhelming familiarity. 

* * *

Genji wakes up in his own room, cock thick and trapped against his thigh. Flat on his back, the strikes throb against the thin futon. He rolls onto his side with a groan.

He doesn’t worry about how he got back, how he is dressed carefully in clean underclothes. Instead, Genji gets himself off, thinking of hot, omnic hands, hard and possessive, and Zenyatta’s voice, authoritative tones slipping into wavering neediness. He almost falls back asleep, but curiosity has him fighting to stand. He hobbles into the bathroom, turns towards the mirror as much as he can to assess the damage.

The nine lash marks are evenly spaced, darker in the middle where the swell of his ass took most of the blow, surrounding skin purpling. Genji gives them an experimental press, and the feeling steals his breath, then makes him laugh.

He had very much played into Zenyatta’s hands, played and lost this round of their game. He hopes for a rematch.

**Author's Note:**

> Also, for anyone wondering, [Oni](https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/s/5ljxvsh8yyibnob/tumblr_messaging_ocafx3Oqky1qckux5_1280.png) is what I called this unfortunate omnic from the dragons cinematic. 
> 
> For more annoying blathering, I'm on [tumblr](http://www.naopao.tumblr.com).


End file.
